


The French Connection

by Petunias



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Conflict of Interests, F/M, Historical AU, I'll tag as I go, Organized Crime, Pre-Series, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:23:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petunias/pseuds/Petunias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing is harder than maintaining a relationship in the midst of assassinations, the drug trade and being hunted by international crime lords.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicized dialogue is to be interpreted as French.

" _Just follow my lead, do not talk unless spoken to and do exactly as I say. Understood?"_  Christophe stopped her just a few steps outside the restaurant's entrance, forcing her to look him in the eye. They were to meet one of her papa's distributors to talk pricing. A simple transaction of words, but Christophe thought otherwise.

" _We've gone over this a thousand times Chris, stop worrying,"_  She scoffed at him, making her way to the front doors, but he grabbed her arm and forcefully tugged her back to his side. She winced slightly and gave him a cautious stare. His hardened face told her he didn't want to play games today.

" _I worry because if something goes wrong, your father will hang me with the linens,_ " he released his vice grip on her to brush some invisible dust from his shoulders and flatten the darkened tuft of hair on his head. She followed his lead and adjusted her headscarf.

He did have an excuse to be concerned. This was her first time 'in the field'. She was to simply observe and listen to what was said. Part of the  _grooming_  process she assumed. But all the same, she was a liability and an extra body to protect if things went sour. Her breath hitched slightly at the thought, but quickly shook her head. Chris was here. Nothing would happen. She was just thinking this way because it was her first meeting.

She gave him a small nod of understanding before they turned back to their destination. The instant he opened the door, her nostrils were bombarded by a plethora of spices and a warm breeze wrapped itself around her form. They stepped into a somewhat confined sand-colored room. Vibrant carpets lined the walls of the restaurant and a four-man band sat in the back playing a melodious Arabic song on stringed instruments and a drum. It felt like they had been transported from the bustling streets of Marseille to a little café on the Bay of Tangier. They scanned the half-full restaurant for the rendezvous. They were spotted first, for a barrel-chested, jolly-looking fellow jumped up from his seat and quickly rushed to greet them.

"Christophe," The man took Chris's hand in his and planted kisses on each of his cheeks. On first glance this man's joviality clashed with his neatly trimmed black beard, slicked back hair and sharply fitted grey suit. Like he hid a more serious motive underneath his friendly airs.

"It's wonderful to see you, Malik." Chris responded with a lukewarm greeting before turning to the younger woman beside him. "May I introduce you to Monsieur Frenier's daughter, Mademoiselle Maureen."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, monsieur." Maureen offered Malik her hand and he deftly placed a kiss on her fingers.

"I've heard much about you from your father. The photos he has shown me do your beauty no justice." The kiss along with his silky Persian accent forced a blush to her face. Her reaction elicited a small predatory grin from him, flustering her further. These gestures didn't go unnoticed by Christophe, and he simply pursed his lips. "Please, come sit. We have much to talk about." They joined Malik around his circular table surrounded by low-seated whicker stools. Maureen flattened the folds of her navy dress after sitting and clasped her hands together.

"Before we be—"

"Would you like some coffee? Wine? The owner stocks a fine Malbec from Spain." Malik waved over a waiter.

Chris cocked an eyebrow. "Offering Spanish wine to a Frenchman? Malik, you insult me," he chuckled.

Malik chuckled as well. "What about you, my dear? Would you like some wine?" Maureen perked up at this. Her face grew hot again as she looked over to Chris for his approval. She hated having to ask for a glass of wine. It was humiliating. "You don't need permission from that old  _salak_." Malik winked at her and directed his attention to the waiter, ordering their drinks in Arabic. She felt she needed to get her blushing under control because Chris, once again, pursed his lips and gave a small sigh.

The next half hour went on in this manner. Malik derailing the conversation from the price negotiation, slipping her small tokens of flirtation when he could get away with it and Christophe attempting to hide his annoyance as best he could. On the last sip of wine she looked over to Chris' glass. He had barely touched his. Gulping down what was left in her mouth, she placed the glass back on the table. Her curiosity of her mentor’s terse behavior quickly dissipated as she went back to laughing at Malik's joke.

"So the Greek finds that his bottle of Retsina was unharmed in the car crash and exclaims to the Turk, "truly it is a sign from God that we were meant to meet if this wine was unscathed by the accident.' He offers the wine to the Turk who happily takes a few big swigs and hands it back to the Greek. The Greek puts the cork back in the bottle and hands it back to the Turk. The Turk asks, 'will you not have some?' the Greek replies, 'no, I think I'll wait for the police!'" He ended with a bellow of laughter.

"What police? They were in Bulgaria!" she chimed in with a tipsy giggle. He let out another roar and slapped his knee. Their table was attracting a few distasteful looks from other diners, but she didn't care. The mood was cheery and her ribs were sore from Malik's jokes. Chris on the other hand looked as though he were on the edge of bursting from something other than mirth.

A waiter hurried over to their table and spoke to Malik in a hushed tone. He frowned at whatever the waiter was telling him and spoke harshly in Arabic before letting out a loud sigh. "Please, excuse me. I'm told I have a call waiting for me." He left the table, following the waiter down a small hallway.

Maureen was still smiling, blissfully unaware of Chris' sullen countenance staring her down. She turned her head to look at him and her grin melted.  _"What?"_

" _Did it ever occur to you why this man makes as many jokes as he does, offers you wine and flirts with you? He's practically buttering you up like a Christmas goose."_  He spoke in a low but threatening voice. Her head almost fell into her lap with shame. He gave a pregnant pause before speaking again, trying to pick his words carefully  _"As the daughter of Marco Frenier, your every action is scrutinized. You're seen as the heir of your father's empire, and they will judge whether you're a suitable successor. If you can't take yourself serious, they certainly won't either."_

Her gut clenched from his words. She couldn't bear to make eye contact with him. _I was just trying to have a little fun,_ she thought. She didn't know what to expect with this whole 'transaction' deal. Her papa had only mentioned they were done in cafes or over dinner, so she just assumed the atmosphere would be lighthearted. Flattening the folds of her dress once more she anxiously waited for Malik to return and break the tension.

As they waited, she noticed a quick flash of light in her periphery. She looked beyond the restaurant window in front of her for the offensive glare. The building across the street had an assortment of open and closed bay windows, each fitted with a flower box full of red poppies. She internally smirked at the sardonic plants.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," Malik said as he sat back down at the table. He looked Maureen once over and immediately took note of her dampened mood. "I believe we have some figures to discuss."

"Yes, we do." Chris pulled out a folded piece of paper from his suit pocket and slid it across the table. Malik didn't miss a beat to pick it up and unfold its contents. He gave a small scoff at what was written and shook his head.

"This would be doable if you were also supplying the boats to pick up your merchandise. But you are not." Malik took a sip from his wine, keeping his gaze fixed on Chris. "Raise it thirty percent and we have a deal."

"That's hardly fair for the amount. I'll raise it five percent." Maureen looked back and forth between the two. It turned into a staring match that neither seemed willing to lose. Finally Malik gave a small laugh and broke his gaze.

"Oh Christophe, how we dance this dance every season," He took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He offered one to both of them. They both declined. "Fifteen percent."

Chris paused in thought before replying. "We'll await your boats in a week's time then." The two men shook on the deal and Malik sat back on his stool, allowing the flames of his lighter to lap at the tip of his cigarette.

That's when two things happened. The succinct sound of glass breaking made Maureen jump in her chair. Immediately following the sound she felt something hot splash onto her cheek. She didn't register what was happening until she looked at Malik. The cigarette hung limply from his lower lip, his mouth slightly parted. His eyes stared right through hers with a bleary unfocused gaze. Jutting out of his neck was a  _balle_ -sized hole. It took a second before blood began pulsing from the wound and soaking into his suit. A gurgling noise left his mouth, but only more blood bubbled out, staining his teeth. He lurched forward smacking his face into the table with a loud thump.

Maureen’s pulse leapt into her throat leaving her breath stunted as she stared at the tablecloth slowly turning a dark crimson. A hand grabbed her shoulder and jerked her from the chair. She followed along obediently, her feet working of there own accord. Before she was pulled down a hallway she glanced at the restaurant window and the building beyond it. A similar size hole decorated the window. Beyond that the poppies still swayed in their flowerboxes but, she saw something metallic snake its way back into one of the rooms.

_Second Floor._

Time finally began to speed up. A woman let out a blood-curdling scream, followed by other diner’s yells of shock and confusion. She felt her back being pushed up against a wall. Letting go of the air stuck in her lungs felt impossible, as her breathing refused to even out. The hallway was dimly lit and looked like it led to the kitchens. For a second she couldn't remember how she had gotten there. It was then she noticed Chris in front of her checking her body for injuries.

" _Were you hit?"_  he asked frantically while turning her from side to side. His fingers traced a tear in the fabric of her jacket just above the elbow. He whispered a silent ‘merci’ that the bullet hadn't pierced her skin. She took this time to touch what was on her face. Some part of her prayed it wasn't what she thought it was, but her fingers met gooey wetness that pushed the taste of wine and bile into her throat.  _"Stay here. I'm calling your father."_  With that he sprinted out of the hall, almost knocking over someone in the process.

She closed her eyes, forcing her breathing to return to normal.  _Inhale, and exhale,_  she kept telling herself.  _In, and out_.

_Second floor._

" _No, no,"_  she repeated to herself. Her feet twitched as she hopped back and forth on them. It was madness what she was thinking of attempting. Her stomach flip-flopped just at the thought.

_Second floor, third window from the left._

As her eyes started to water she took a sleeve of her jacket to wipe the tears away. Pulling back the sleeve she saw the blood and thicker bits of flesh from her cheek smeared all over it, making her stomach roil more.

_Second floor, third window from the left. You could still catch him._

Even if it was just to get a small glimpse of the man who did this. She could describe him to Papa and his men would catch him. She'd be helpful for once.

_He's going to get away._

"Merde!" Before she could convince herself that this was the most idiotic, suicidal decision she bolted out of the hall, past the dead body and out onto the street. She quickly went through the doors of the poppy riddled building to see it was a hotel. A few guests looked up from their business at her sudden entrance and gasped at the sight of gore on her jacket. She ignored them, running through the reception to a door labeled ‘stairwell’. She took the stairs two at a time praying she wasn’t too late. Her heart was about to explode and her lungs were in a vice grip.  _Should I just wait near the room he was in? No, he's seen what I look like. Christ, what am I doing?_  She rounded a corner close to the second floor and slammed into a tall figure in front of her. She noticed he held a silver suitcase. She’d seen one of those before, one of her father’s men smuggled guns overseas using it. She looked up to see frightful eyes and knew immediately it was _him_.

 

* * *

 

 

The tip-off that Malik Şahin would be at  _les tangine_  café wasn't false. Mundy loved disgruntled colleagues for the sole reason that they easily slipped up and gave away vital information to their foreign 'drinking buddy'. He ought to feel bad for the dumb sods, but it's their own damn fault for ratting out the boss' son. So he doesn't sympathize when they’re hanging by their ankles being skinned alive in someone's slaughterhouse.

He flipped up the clasps to his suitcase and opened the lid. Inside a disassembled rifle laid snuggly on grey foam. He let a small smile play on his face and a wave of relief washed over him. This was the furthest he had traveled from home and his first job without Pete by his side. He'd be lying to himself if he said he wasn't nervous. But all worries seemed to dissipate when he had a rifle in hand. It was like a security blanket of sorts. With the target's location set and the room across from the café booked, it was all down to playing the waiting game. A game he was rather good at.

He set to work assembling the gun, keeping his eye on the restaurant below looking for any signs of the Turk. An hour went by with no indication of his arrival. He checked his watch every five minutes at this point while flexing his hands.  _This had to be the right place,_  he thought to himself. Another thirty minutes went by and his bladder was on the verge of bursting.  _Knowing my luck, he'll show up when I'm in the loo._  Not long after he stood up a black Citroen pulled up outside the café and a sharply dressed man with slick black hair stepped out of the passenger side. Mundy pulled the mug shot out of his pocket and compared the faces. "Looks like we have a winner." His bladder decided that moment was the perfect time to double him over.  _Damn French coffee._ He looked back and forth from the man now entering the café to the taunting bathroom door. "Ah shit," he said as he left his post near the window. After doing his business he came back out to see Malik was now accompanied by a gentleman who looked to be in his late twenties and…

"What the hell's a Sheila doin' here?" Well this was unexpected. The target sat with his back to Mundy but the angle was nothing short of awful. Any headshot would have risked hitting the girl as well. Normally this wouldn't bother him, but he'd never shot a girl before. She was young too, maybe a couple years younger than himself. She looked anxious to be there, what with all the nervous tics like tapping her foot and fiddling with the hem of her dress.  _Could be a prostitute?_  No, too conservative of a dress; and she was too nervous for that matter. Through his scope he watched as she slowly relaxed, drinking any wine she was offered and laughing at something funny the Turk was saying. He had to admit her smile was nice. "But you're still in the way, luv," he muttered to himself.

At some point the Turk stood up and left the table. Mundy panicked for a second, thinking he was leaving for good, but the other two remained seated. He repositioned himself to get a better angle, but the barrel of the rifle glinted in the sunlight. Next thing he knew the girl was looking straight at his window. He reacted in time to duck behind the wall and lower his rifle. A lump gathered in his throat as he waited what felt like ages before peeking around the corner. She was looking down at her dress with a dampened expression, but no indication that she saw him. He breathed a sigh of relief before setting up his position again.

The Turk returned to the table and it seemed their meeting was just starting to wrap up. His body broke into a sweat with fear that he would never get the shot. Malik shook hands with the other gentleman and did what Mundy had been waiting for a whole hour. The Turk leaned back, his neck out of line from the girl.

_Small breath in._

_Breathe out slowly._

_Hold._

_Click._

_BANG._

_Right through the Jugular._

A beat after the shot was fired he was breaking down his gun and placing the parts back in its case. Repetition and practiced speed made these actions a blur. His record for full disassembly was currently twenty seconds, but he was fumbling slightly from nerves. The next step in a job such as this was never his favorite. The running. Getting to another safe location before being spotted.

He shut the clasps on the case and dashed for the front door. Once in the hallway he stalled to find the door to the back stairwell. Running down a back hallway to the stairs he started the descent. He skipped steps in a frantic dash for the ground exit. Upon rounding a corner too fast he slammed into someone. He quickly grabbed their arm to keep them from falling, apologizing profusely the entire time.

He tried to maneuver past them, but when letting go of their sleeve he felt a slimy wetness cling to his fingers. Looking down at them he noticed.  _Blood?_  His gaze shot up and realized it was _her_. Her face was flushed and she panted heavily. Blood was smeared on her cheek, and her brown hair was disheveled and falling out of a bun under her headscarf. She directed her glance to his suitcase and some sliver of realization crossed her face. She looked back up at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

"C'est vous?" she blurted as she furrowed her brows in confusion. He made to move around her, but she blocked the way with her body. "Était-ce vous?" She looked absolutely terrified.

 

 _Why does he look so terrified? He’s an assassin, no?_ She was certain this was her guy. He couldn't have been much older than her. She didn't know what to expect but it certainly wasn't this. He was lanky, with short brown shaggy hair and moving out of that awkward pimply teenage look every boy seemed to have and maturing into a more adult guise.

He didn’t respond to her yells, but when he tried to dodge past again she threw her body in front of him.  _What the hell am I doing?_  He seemed to be thinking the same thing for his expression turned to confusion, then frustration.

"Move," he growled. Her body refused to respond. She shook from the adrenaline and underlying fear, but she stood her ground.

"Non," she said defiantly. They stood there a few seconds eyeing each other over.

"I don't want to hurt ya," he spoke in a lower tone. _His accent. British. No. Australian?_

Her body was still unable to un-root itself, so she resorted to yelling at him again.  _"you're a bastard."_  She was thankful he didn't seem to understand French, but he was getting irate all the same.

"Bloody 'ell. I didn't want to do this." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a switchblade, pointing the tip directly at her throat. She stopped breathing and felt the blood drain from her face. Fumbling with her dress pocket she cursed at herself for leaving her own knife back at home. It didn’t matter much though. Even if she had it, she’d be too frozen in fear to use it.

Mundy mentally cursed the stubbiness of the switchblade. It was a pathetic excuse for a knife. He'd have preferred his machete or kukri, but this little poker was the only thing he could slip through security without being asked a hundred questions. Why do you need a knife that big? Do you have other weapons on you? Can we check your bags? He didn’t need that kind of attention. But the size didn't seem to matter, since it appeared he finally held the girl's undivided attention. He gestured with the knife for her to step aside. She waited a pregnant pause before slowly backing into the corner, her hands slightly raised in a gesture of surrender and not taking her eyes off the switchblade.

He didn't hesitate to run past her and down the remaining steps, pushing past the exit and sprinting down the back alley. The coast looked clear, as he started his trek down the main streets to another hideout. She mentally kicked herself for how stupid she was acting. What did she hope to accomplish? Get on Chris' good side? Show her papa she was ready for tougher jobs? She clung onto false hope at this point, but she also refused to give up. She was only trying to help.  _You stupid girl._

She waited a few seconds to hear the click of the exit door slide back into place before following his lead and running into the back alley. She barely caught sight of his back as he slipped out of view around a corner. She jogged over to the street he turned onto and peeked around the corner of the building. He had disappeared into thin air. Her head fell slightly.  _There's no point chasing him now_. She slowly turned around and began her slow trudge of shame back to the restaurant.

" _Chris is going to murder me."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've completely redone the first two chapters of this story so it reads in 3rd person instead of 1st person. As someone pointed out it read too much like a role-play.
> 
> Also, I apologize in advance if this story is very OC heavy and I know it being an Alternative Universe/History fic disconnects it one step farther from canon. It's a story that's been stuck in my head for years. I started it in 2013, but quit because of doubts and now I'm picking it back up because I need some self-indulgence in my life. With all of this in mind, please be gentle with comments.


	2. Chapter 2

Mundy leaned over the bathroom sink splashing water on his face when he heard a scraping noise over the wooden floor of his new hotel room. He spun around, scrambling to open his switchblade. His heart pumped furiously, preparing for an attack. When he caught sight of a folded note lying innocently in front of the hotel door he stiffened.

His nerves were still on edge from that afternoon. Every creak of the floorboards startled him senseless. He couldn’t go across the street for a bite to eat without looking over his shoulder every ten seconds. He even dive-bombed the floor when a child yelled to his mates outside the hotel window. It was a blessing it happened in the privacy of his room. He’d look like a right fool if it had been in public. Saying He was spooked was a major understatement. And now a mystery note was lying on the floor, probably from someone who knew who he was and what he’d done. Just brilliant. _No, if they knew who you were, they wouldn’t muck about. They’d have killed you by now._

Nevertheless, his movements were calculated, making sure not to disturb the floorboards when walking towards the note. _They could still be outside the door. Waiting._ He stopped in his tracks and rethought his movements. His gun lay on the kitchenette table cleaned, assembled and ready for action. Leaving the note untouched he went for his rifle instead. Still taking small, light steps he made his way to the door pressing against the wall as he fumbled with the lock.

With shaking hands and breath caught in his throat, he swung the door open and pointed the barrel out into the hall. Craning his neck to better see the ends of the hallway he noticed there wasn’t another soul in sight. Baffled, he closed the door and looked down at the note once more. _What the hell is going on?_ He dipped down to pick it up and unfolded it.

 

**_Burn after reading. You are not safe here. Check out of your room and meet me outside the bar at the end of this street in ten minutes._ **

**_The girl in the stairwell._ **

 

Her again? What game was she playing? He stalked over to the window and scanned the street for any sign of her. There were kids playing jump rope and a few men walking home from work. He squinted in the direction of the setting sun and noticed the silhouette of a woman in a dress. She stopped and turned toward the vague direction of his hotel window then continued to walk away at a fast pace. He ducked back into the room and re-read the letter.

“Wot the hell is your deal?” He muttered to himself. He jammed a hand into his pocket and took out a lighter. Flicking it a few times it sparked to life and he watched as the paper curled under the flames.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Chris is going to murder me_ ,” she said weakly. What she just did was beyond stupid and reckless. The boy could have used his knife on her. There was nothing stopping him from slitting her throat to silence her and leave no witnesses. _I could be bleeding out on the stairs right now._ “ _But I’m not_.” She stopped herself and thought on this a bit. He resorted to his knife because she was being stubborn and not moving out of the way. He even said himself; he didn’t want to hurt her. And that look in his eyes… 

For an assassin, he was young. And she could tell in his expression, he was extremely inexperienced. He wasn’t expecting a confrontation. His job was done and he just wanted to leave the vicinity as soon as humanly possible. Realization slowly sunk in that he probably didn’t have a clue what he was doing. “He killed someone. He knows what he’s doing.” Just because he killed someone didn’t mean he knew how to cover his tracks. She knew what she had to do next.

Maureen opened the door to the back stairwell and started her ascent to the second floor. Once there, she gained her bearings as to which side of the hotel faced the café and walked down the long hallway. Counting the rooms she came across the third from the end. “219,” she repeated to herself. She took the elevator down, wanting to give her legs a rest. The pandemonium that was the last few minutes began catching up to her and an exhausted ache seeped into her bones. As the elevator reached the ground floor, she remembered the shocked looks of the hotel guests when seeing the blood on her jacket. She hastily took it off, using the clean sleeve to wipe the remaining blood off her face and folded it over her arm. There were still a few dark flecks on her dress, but barely noticeable on the navy blue fabric. It could be brushed off as a wine stain. Just for safe measure, she took off her headscarf and let her hair fall over her shoulders. Keeping her head low as she walked over the reception desk, it seemed no one noticed or cared that she was the same girl who had just run through with bits of gore on her person.

A young chipper man in a concierge’s uniform greeted her and asked if she had booked a room. “ _Oh, I’m already checked in. I just need an extra towel_.” she smiled politely at him. He bowed and walked into a back room. In a flash she grabbed the ledger book that sat on top of the counter and swung it around to face her. She skimmed the line of room numbers for 219 and read over the name written next to it. ‘Matthew Lowell’. Definitely made up. Before the concierge could emerge from the back room she was scurrying out the front door and making her way back to the café.

She had a name—well, a fake name—and a face. Pleased with her detective work, she walked back into the café with a small boost of confidence. The mellow atmosphere had completely evaporated, leaving empty dread to linger in the air. The police had arrived and were talking to the diners who had witnessed the attack. Seeing Malik’s body covered by a tablecloth gave her the chills.

“ _MAUREEN!_ ” Chris’ voice boomed over the dull chatter. The room went silent and all eyes locked onto his fuming figure. His face had reached an unnaturally dark shade of red and Maureen swore he was foaming at the mouth. She had never felt so small in her entire life as he advanced towards her with a look to kill. She mentally berated herself for not preparing more for the onslaught she was about to receive. “ _What the… why di—…where the hell did you go!?_ ” he finally stammered, spittle flying onto her face.

“ _I—I’m sorry_ ,” was all she could coax from her lips. This felt worse than the time she accidentally ran over a cat during her first driving lesson. Barely making eye contact with him she tried to speak further. “ _I wanted to track down the shoot—“_

“ _ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND??_ ” his right hand went above his head, gesturing to hit her. Her arms reflexively went up to her face, shielding any blow he might strike. “ _Are you trying to get yourself killed!?_ ”

“ _Please Chris! I’m so sorry! I know it was stupid to run off_!” She waited for what felt like hours readying herself for a blow to the head, stomach, anywhere. But it never came. She sheepishly looked past her arms to see his back turned toward her. He was taking deep breaths while clenching and unclenching his fists. A couple of the police looked between them with concern but didn’t move to interfere. Other witnesses looked away in embarrassment. It took most of Maureen’s willpower to walk up to him and place a hesitant hand on his shoulder. “ _I just wanted to do something right_.”

He spun around and grabbed her shoulders. He stared her down with such an intense rush of emotions. “ _You can’t run off like that mon lapin_ ,” he whispered harshly, pulling her into a crushing hug and kissing the top of her head. “ _Please don’t ever do that again._ ” She paused a beat before gently hugging him back, a bit surprised by his sudden show of affection.

 “ _I won’t_ ,” she replied guiltily.

 He released her with a great sigh. “ _I don’t suppose you saw him?_ ” she was just about to open her mouth when a deeper more commanding voice filled the room.

“ _Christophe._ ” The pair turned to face the daunting figure of Maureen’s father. His hands were clasped behind his back and posture straight as could be. His meticulous grooming from his smooth face to short parted black hair accentuated the sharp look in his eyes. His age was showing in the grey hairs creeping into his short sideburns and slight forming of crow’s feet. Someone once told Maureen that he reminded them of a tiger; he could kill a person in cold-blood and look graceful and charming while doing so.

The police only had to glance at him once to know not to bother their little party. “ _Explain everything that happened,_ ” her father continued.

Chris took a moment to compose his person before starting a long-winded explanation on the bullet’s entry and angle at which it was shot. He knelt near the corpse drawing an imaginary line from the neck and ended with pointing to the hole in the window. “ _It was a tight shot, I’ll give him that_.” He looked from the stool Maureen had been sitting on to the body and then glanced up to her. “ _And he made sure you were out of the line of trajectory._ ” She was taken aback by this news. _He didn’t want to shoot me?_ Twice he could have harmed her and he didn’t. Her ears turned slightly pink at this. Neither her father nor Chris seemed to notice and continued their conversation. Her father was acting rather apathetic to the news that his daughter’s life was potentially threatened. It was more than a little disheartening.

“ _Did you see him?_ ” Her father asked Chris coolly. Chris gave her an inquisitive look and she shrugged in response. “ _Am I not being told something?_ ” Her gaze shot up to her father’s; his expression was still unreadable nevertheless unsettling.

“ _I_ …” Her words were stuck in her throat as his steel grey eyes bore into her own. She wanted to ask him what he would do to the boy. She knew death was in the cards, but her father was known for his cruelty among enemies. Her mind flashed to one night long ago when she stumbled upon her father in the basement of their house. She was little at the time and when she heard a curious noise, she didn’t hesitate to investigate. Her father greeted her at the foot of the steps, patted her on the head and told her to go back to bed. But before she left she caught sight of a man strapped to a chair. He was gagged, bleeding from a large gash in his forehead and had a web of black bruises and lacerations on his bare chest. He pleaded to her with his eyes hoping she would go tell someone before his body was blocked from vision by her father’s brooding form. She knew that wasn’t the first man her father had tortured and certainly wasn’t the last.

Her thoughts went back to the boy’s frightened eyes and how he spared her on two occasions. _Are you really going to hand him over to your father?_ No. No she wouldn’t. But, her brain kept reverting back to the fact that he killed Malik. It was a direct threat to her father. _That’s not necessarily a bad thing that Malik died. Remember what Chris said about appearances. You could start fresh with Malik disposed of._ She paled at her disturbing train of thought. Where the hell did that come from?

“ _Maureen?_ ” She was snapped back to the present by her father’s voice. He was still looking at her with uninterested eyes. Though they appeared to be indifferent, she knew he was calculating every change in her movements, down to how many times she blinked or how fast she breathed. In order to throw him off her scene she’d have to play off her next words smoothly.

“ _Sorry Papa, I’m still shaken up a bit_.” She took in a deep breath, “ _I tried to run after him_.” His expression didn’t change.

“ _And did you see him?_ ” Time to shine. She put on a disappointed but slightly sheepish look and shook her head.

“ _He wasn’t in the hotel by the time I reached it_.” Her father hummed softly through his thin lips. Her lie seemed to be working, “ _I’m sorry Papa. I know I should have stayed here in the café_.” She looked down forlornly, waiting and praying that her father would accept the act as truth.

After a time, she felt his hand on her shoulder. He gave it a gentle squeeze. “ _You did what you thought was right at the time._ ” She looked up at him with genuine happiness. _He didn’t yelled at me!_ But his face was still solemn. “ _You need to be more careful. You disobeyed Chris and put yourself in danger. Don’t be that reckless again_.” I nodded my head, mentally patting myself on the back for avoiding further punishment.

He turned back to Christophe. “ _Inform_ _Şahin’s men that we’ll send out a hunting party_.” A lump formed in her throat. Christ, not the hunting party. That kid wouldn’t last the night before they found him. “ _And notify les flics to set up checkpoints at the docks and train station. Anyone suspicious is to be interrogated_.” Chris nodded his head in understanding and left the café without so much as a glance in Maureen’s direction. She felt a twinge of guilt as the doors closed behind him.

Her father looked down to her and waved in the direction of the black limousine waiting outside for them. “ _Shall we?_ ” Settling into the back seat, her mind continued to race with thoughts of the assassin. He was as good as dead. _He spared my life. Twice_. It appeared her mind was already made up. She was going to help the poor bastard.

* * *

 

Maureen’s hands were becoming clammy and her stomach tied itself into knots as she sat at one of the outside tables, slowly sipping the wine she ordered. It wasn’t like she was waiting for a date to arrive, but the signs of her body slipping into a panicked fever made her feel like she was. No, this was worse than a date. If her papa or Christophe caught on to what she was doing, well, she had no idea what the consequences would be, but she certainly didn’t want to find out.

She ticked off the seconds in her head. Surely ten minutes had passed by now. She pushed the wine off to the side, stomach too queasy from anxiety. Her finger began tapping the table to the seconds. It was all she could do to stop herself from leaving the bar. She placed her head in her other hand and closed her eyes. _Give him two more minutes._ If he didn’t show up in that time she’d convince herself that he didn’t want her help and that she should just walk away from this whole messy situation.

She heard the sound of a suitcase hitting the ground with a resonating clunk, followed by a body plopping down into the chair across the table. An iron fist squeezed and stretched her stomach. She took her time raising her eyes to meet his. His arms were crossed over his chest and he wore an impatient stare. He still wore the same light blue button-down shirt with blue jeans, but was now sporting a pair of orange tinted aviators. His air of annoyance severely contrasted Maureen’s fidgeting nervous state. _God be with me._ She grabbed her wine glass and chugged the rest of its contents before standing up. “Come on,” she commanded.

“Now just wait one second,” he leaned forward in his chair. “I want some bloody answers first.”

“And you’ll get them as we walk. It is safer to do so.” She planted her hands on her hips. She was not going to argue. Not with her father’s men possibly in the area. His stubborn glare only lasted a few seconds before he grumbled something under his breath and picked up his bags. When he was on his feet she couldn’t help but gawk at how tall he was. She knew she was petite, but even with high heels on her eyes were barely level with his shoulders. She gestured down the street. “This way.”

  

The first minute of their walk was filled with an awkward tension that refused to break. “So,” she started. “You must have a hundred questions you’d like to ask, non?” She looked over her shoulder at him. He kept his eyes to the ground and grinded his teeth. _Oh I have questions all right; I just don’t know where to start._ “Come now, you were so eager for explanations just a minute ago. 

“Give me a sec, would ya?” he snapped. She huffed and directed her attention in front of her once more. It irked him that this girl seemed to pop up out of nowhere and just _know_ where he was going to be. He thought he had picked a hotel far enough away from the assassination sight. And it wasn’t like he was attracting unnecessary attention to himself. Well, aside from looking like a paranoid loony.

“How did you find me? _Again?_ ” She straightened at this and gave a sly smile.

“You made a rookie mistake.” He frowned at her response. 

“And what was that?”

“Never use the same fake name twice, monsieur _Lowell_. It only took me a few phone calls to find where you were staying.” _Well shit._ “You’re extremely lucky I found you before my father’s men.”

“Don’t tell me you’re related to that Şahin fella I killed.” That would have made matters so much worse. 

“Non. My father is Marco Frenier,” she said with an air of pride. He considered this for a bit.

“Then why the hell does your father want me dead? I didn’t kill any of _his_ men.” She put a hand to her face as if to ponder the question.

“The man you killed was the son of a prominent opium dealer in Turkey, Arif Şahin.” 

“I knew that much,” he scoffed. “But it still doesn’t explain why _your_ dad wants my head on a pike.”

“My father likes to demonstrate loyalty to those he deems good business partners. Apparently he considers Arif a good business partner.” He could tell she had picked her words carefully, making sure not to give too much information away. They walked on in silence for a bit more.

He was left with the one question that had been nagging at him since receiving her note. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” she asked innocently.

“Don’t play dumb,” He almost bumped into the back of her as she came to a complete stop. She turned on her heel to look him square on. “You have no reason to help me,” he added.

What he said didn’t seem to faze her for she just kept staring up at him with her steel grey eyes. “You spared my life. Twice. I’m repaying the favor.” With that she turned back around and kept walking. His gut started to clench. Something just didn’t feel right.

“Am I supposed to believe that?” She stopped once more, rolling her eyes towards the sky.

“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly. “Now can we please continue? It is getting late and I need to be home soon.” She started to walk off again, but wouldn’t get far.

“How do I know you’re not just luring me to your daddy’s henchmen?” He gripped the handle to his gun case tightly. She spun around once more, but with much more flare and anger in her eyes.

“I would never,” she snarled.

“Well you’re giving me little reason to believe you.”

“I give you my word,” she pleaded with him. He let out a loud snort.

“Fat chance that’s any good. You’re the kid of a crime boss. You’ve obviously picked up some good spying tips and for all I know he’s using you to bait me.”

She was rooted to the spot, brows furrowed and mouthing something silent, unable to get the words out. “How _dare_ you?” she finally spat. If she was trying to look intimidating it didn’t work, he thought to himself. She was just too adorable with her chubby cheeks and quivering lower lip. It reminded him of a chipmunk. He tried to stifle a giggle, but failed.

“Has anyone told you how cute you are when you’re all riled up?”

This pissed her off nice and good, and before he could blink her fist made contact with the left side of his jaw.

“OW!” He stumbled back a few steps, clutching his face in surprise. It was a very weak punch, but he hadn’t expected it. She was cradling her hand to her chest and cursing in French. Across the street a passing couple slowed their walk to watch us inquisitively. He massaged his jaw and shot her a quick look of concern.

“Uh, kid. Maybe we should do this somewhere else,” he muttered.

“Shut up!” She snapped at him, eyes watering slightly. He was startled into silence. “Do you!—” she took a few deep breaths and began again in a shaky voice. “Do you realize what I’m sacrificing to help you? I lied to my father _and_ my mentor to keep your identity safe. I lied to my father _even more_ as an excuse to leave the house and locate you before anyone else could. I even took the time to find you a new hide out. And you—” she poked his chest with a manicured finger producing a grunt from him. “All you do is accuse me? And _mock_ me? Well listen here. I’ll admit this plan isn’t perfect, and I had to think fast. But, it was all in your best interest. You want the hunters to capture you? Torture you until you beg for death? _Fine by me_.” She made sure to shoulder him roughly as she passed by and start marching in the direction they had just come from. She jammed her hands into her dress pockets, determined not to look back. Heated embarrassment crept up his neck and face.

_Well, you bollocksed that one up. Good job, Mundy_. He ran a few paces to catch up with her and placed a free hand on her shoulder. “Wait.” She only shrugged it off and continued walking away. “I’m sorry.” No reaction.

He stopped where he was, desperate for the words to make her come back. She was right. He made a rookie error using the same name twice. Professional hunters would pick up that trail within hours. He _was_ lucky they didn’t find him before her. Now he was being offered help. And she would know better than him where to hide in the city. Sure she could have been lying, but he was left with piss poor options. He didn’t have any extra passports, the concierge and plenty of hotel guests had seen his face and, he was certain the ports would be on lockdown. He had to take the chance.

“I need you.” She slowed her pace and eventually stopped, but didn’t turn around. “I mean—I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is, I need your help. I know there’s no way you can prove you’re not fuckin’ me over, and my life’s in your hands. And, I’ll just have to trust you’re doin’ right by me.”

Her body slowly turned towards him, keeping her eyes on the ground. “You won’t argue with me anymore?” It was more of a command than a question. He nodded his head. “And you’ll do exactly as I say?” He nodded again. She sniffed. “And you won’t laugh at me?”

At this he let out a small sigh of relief, “I promise.” Her shoulders relaxed and she approached him slowly. Her eyes were still teary, but also determined “We need to hurry. It’s getting late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'les flics' is French slang for the cops.


	3. Chapter 3

Their journey continued in silence. Maureen kept her hands stuffed into her dress pockets, right hand palming the now warm metal of her balisong. She was itching to take it out and flick it open and closed, but knew better than to attract unwanted attention. The feel of it in her pocket had to suffice in calming her nerves. 

Her eyes shifted so she could see the boy in her peripheral vision. Their earlier spat did all but help make her feel better about the current situation. She was so close to abandoning him right there in the street. But as she walked away, even before he called her back to apologize, she felt a guilty weight drop to the pit of her stomach. She was too invested in his safety. She had seen him, talked to him. She wouldn’t be able to stomach the sight of herself if he ended up dead because of her apathy. So she chose to continue walking to her selected refuge point. 

“Jesus,” he whispered behind her in awe. His voice broke her from her thoughts and she realized which neighborhood they were in. The burnt shells of buildings loomed over them, casting faded shadows in the twilight. They left the lights of civilization behind and had entered a desolate carnage. What structures did remain battled with the ever-entangling vines, while knee-high weeds ruptured through the cobblestoned pathways and rotting wooden planks within the buildings.

“This is… was St. Charles. It was a nice little borough before the War. Young couples started their families here. And there was a butcher’s shop just down the street that sold the best pheasant in the city,” she rambled. Her heart tugged in her ribcage as she looked around imagining the shops and apartment buildings as they were before the bombs fell.

“Wouldn’t this area have been rebuilt by now? It’s been a while since the war ended…” he trailed off.

“There’s only so much that can be done in five years. Our city’s first priority was rebuilding the ports. Everything else will be repaired with time.” They passed an intersection that was all too familiar to Maureen and she involuntarily slowed her pace as she looked down the passing street. The vacant buildings lining the road were somewhat better off, but not entirely untouched by bullet holes and scars from explosions. It was only a small blessing that the rains had washed the blood into the gutters, because the memories lingered.

“You alright?” He asked hesitantly. She nodded her head and quickened her pace.

With precious light left in the sky they came upon a narrow road with stonewalls lining each side and luxurious villas nestled beyond. Maureen stopped in front of a wooden gate, which led to an immense three-story villa painted in cream with a rustic-tiled roof. Mundy gave a low whistle. “Fancy, this is.”

“Hopefully it’s to your liking, because it is where you will be hiding.” His head snapped in her direction with a look of bemusement.

“I’m sorry, say that again?” She couldn’t help but smirk at his dumbfounded expression.

“It belongs to friends of the family and they are on holiday for the remainder of the summer.” She explained as she pulled the gate key out of her pocket to show him. “And they put me in charge of maintaining the house while they’re away.” Her smile couldn’t have grown any wider, proud of herself for thinking up such an ingenious plan. Who of her father’s men would think to look here? Mundy, on the other hand, was far too preoccupied in ogling over the building’s size.

She jiggled the key in the gate’s lock until a resounding click could be heard. Pushing one side open with a soft whine of the hinges, she led him through and closed it behind them. The pathway was an intricate pattern of smoothed grey stone slabs surrounded by pink hibiscus. The wooden front door was painted the same rustic red as the roof, giving off a warm inviting vibe.

After hearing the click of the front door’s lock releasing, she gave it a slight shove to open it, revealing a darkened hallway that led further on to the salon. The interior was cream colored as well with windows littering the walls. The salon housed a dark wooden coffee table, a red leather sofa and matching armchair. The only noise to be heard was the slow ticking of a grandfather clock echoing from the dining hall further in the house. Stepping into the room, she turned on a lamp and began closing curtains and absent mindedly arranging pillows. Mundy stared at her oddly as she went about her mindless tasks. She continued tidying magazines in a nice pile on the coffee table in an attempt to soothe her nerves from the awareness of his piercing gaze.

“You don’t have to do that,” he finally spoke up. She turned to see he was still standing in the hallway. As soon as their eyes met, he quickly glanced away. He looked a bit embarrassed with his hands in his pockets, keeping a vaguely interested eye on a sculpture of Venus in a corner of the room.

“And why not? You are a guest.” Maureen stated as she gestured around at her tidying up.

He huffed at this, “I’m hardly a guest.” He shuffled into the room and sat down in the armchair. He rested his elbows on his knees, eyes cast downward.

“What is wrong?” she asked somewhat concerned.

He glanced up at her then continued staring at the statue. “I wasn’t expectin’ this.” He gestured around. “Ya know, for a second I thought you’d stop at one of those burnt-out buildings and tell me that’s where I’d be hiding. Not that I would have objected to that! I’m used to sleepin’ outdoors.” He quickly added the last bit as an afterthought, hoping he didn’t come off as rude. She tilted her head at him in confusion before letting out a small chuckle. His rambling was endearing. Dare she say, adorable? 

She kicked off her heels and stretched herself out on the sofa. With a mock air of snobbery she quipped, “Never, sir! That would be most rude and inhospitable of me!” She smiled and gave another small snicker, but he only grimaced more.

“I just… I was an ass to you is all. I can see why you got so mad at me when I didn’t believe you.” Maureen sat up straight, legs akimbo, not really caring if it was un-lady like with a dress. He didn’t seem to care either, keeping his gaze away from hers.

“How about we start afresh, non?” he perked up at this. “For all we know, you may be here another week. If we’re to make this time tolerable, then past resentments need to be forgiven and forgotten.”

“Like you punchin’ me in the jaw?” A corner of his mouth tugged slightly upward.

“Yes, yes.” She dismissed the memory with a wave of her hand. “And _your_ suspicions that I was helping my father capture you.” She crossed her arms to emphasize that the apology went both ways. Whatever smile was forming on his lips disappeared immediately.

Maureen sighed and animatedly stuck out her hand for him to shake. With a wide smile she introduced herself. “My name is Maureen Frenier.” He looked at her with arched brows then down to her hand. He was still for a while, thinking over her proposal. Finally, a small chuckle escaped his lips as he took her hand in his.

“Lawrence. Mundy.” He smiled toothily. It was very becoming on him.

“How do you do, monsieur Mundy?” She slipped back into a mock snobbery accent eliciting another small chuckle from him.

“Call me Lawrence.” He paused a beat, giving her a curious expression, but then relaxed back in his seat. _Lawrence_. She let the name roll off her mind’s tongue a few times. It was a nice name. A good name.

“Then I expect you to call me Maureen.” She smiled warmly.

It seemed time was against them, for a few seconds later, the grandfather clock struck eight.

“ _Putain!_ ” she mumbled under her breath. She didn’t think it was _that_ late. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.” she quickly stood up and began putting her high heels back on. He deflated slightly from this. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t leave the lights on too late. Try to make as little sound as possible. And whatever you do, _do not_ go outside. I don’t want the neighbors thinking you’re a burglar.”

“Makin’ it sound like I’m under house arrest.” He said lightheartedly.

“Sorry, _mon ami_. But those are the rules.” She grabbed the keys out of her pocket and started for the door.

“Maureen,” Her breath caught in her throat at the sound of her name. It was awkward on his tongue, but still produced a small wave of heat that crept through her chest and up into her neck. His face was fixed with a serious expression once again. They stared at each other for a long second before he continued. “Thank you." 

She responded with a smile. “When you go upstairs, the last door on the left is your bedroom. There are some sausages and cheese in the cellar if you’re hungry. _Bonne nuit_.” With that, she was out the door and bolting home as fast as her heels would allow.

  

Mundy sat back down, left to his own pseudo-devices. Strumming the armrests of his chair he looked around once more. Never in his twenty-one years on this earth had he stepped foot in such a swank place. _If this is her friend’s house, I can’t imagine the mansion she lives in._ But she didn’t come off as posh at all. Hell, she couldn’t even take her own formalities all that seriously.

“Strange kid,” he muttered. Everything about her so far was perplexing. She was very expressive in her actions and didn’t seem to hold back any emotion. He reflexively rubbed his jaw where she struck him. The fact she was going to such great lengths to help him made her all the more baffling. Mundy didn’t know whether to feel confused, grateful or suspicious. Hell maybe a combination of the three was only appropriate.

As the minutes passed he could feel his body sinking deeper into the chair, going lax from exhaustion. The day felt like one of the longest in his life and he could tell the adrenaline was finally wearing off. It was only in the passing moments of feeling his lids grow heavy that he really could rest easy. With great reluctance he stood up from the chair and grabbed his bags. Turning the lamp off shrouded in him darkness with the only light coming in as slivers between the curtains of the windows. He inched his way to where he had seen the stairs, every step more draining than the last. Once at the top, a hall of doors greeted him. Maureen said the last door on the left. It was tempting going through all the other rooms of this place, but sleep called for him. _I’ll explore in the morning._

Upon opening the door to his temporary bedroom he gave yet another low whistle. He swore his entire house could fit in that one room. Plush carpets lined the floor and man-sized oil paintings of rolling countryside canvassed the walls. An intricately carved four-poster bed with rich fabrics draped over the canopy frame jutted from the furthest wall. Next to it were French doors that led to what he guessed was a balcony. He dropped his things and almost beelined straight for the bed. At the last second, he looked over to the doors, curious about the view. Maureen said to stay inside. But, it was dark out and he’d have the cover of being on the second floor. Couldn’t hurt to take one little peek. Right?

He pulled on the handles and cracked the doors open an inch. “Holy hell.” He said as he swung them wide open. The villa was perched on a hill overlooking the city and bay area. The sky was clear, letting a half moon reflect its glow off the waters. On the horizon the silhouette of a mountain range loomed, cradling the pools of light that were the intricate twisting roads of the city. Leaning on the railing he admired the scene below. When Pete told him the job would be in the city he expected dirty stuffy streets crowded with people and an overwhelming cacophony of noise. The idea didn’t sit well with him at first nevertheless he didn’t want to let his mentor down. But, this completely blew his expectations out of the water. Never did he think this job would entail such a beautiful view.

 _Not the only beautiful view today, Mundy_.

His cheeks grew hot at the thought of Maureen, sitting on the couch legs crossed with an outstretched hand, radiant smile painted on her lips. And her eyes… he shook his head of the image. Best leave thoughts like that well alone. _She’s the daughter of the man who wants me skinned alive._ Nothing good could come of that. But, he did have to wonder what she had in store for him. She must have a plan. He couldn’t stay put for too long. How the hell was he going to get out of the city? _That’ll be food for thought for the morning._ He let out a loud yawn as he walked to the bed, shucking off his boots as he went. As soon as his head hit the pillows he fell into a deep sleep.

 

* * *

 

Maureen’s heels clicked in rapid succession as she clambered up the walkway to her house. Stopping at the front entrance, she took a few concentrated breaths to calm her nerves. _Nothing went wrong, papa doesn’t suspect a thing. How could he?_ She followed Chris’ own advice. If you want to hide something hide it in plain sight. Lawrence was one hair short of hiding in her own home. She just needed to play off her tardiness tonight and she’d be in the clear.

Upon entering the house she was greeted by the buttery smell of baking bread. A smile played on her lips as she followed it into the kitchen. Her mama was bent over observing a few loaves in their wood fire oven. She gave a small cough to announce her arrival and not frighten squat woman in front of her. Her mother righted herself immediately and directed a fierce glare in Maureen’s direction.

“ _Where have you been?_ ” She scolded as she wiped flour onto her apron. “ _You better have a good excuse as to why you missed dinner._ ”

Maureen swiped a bread knife from the kitchen island and dug into one of the loaves on the cooling rack. “ _I needed to look after the Dupont’s house. They left a lot of food in their pantries that will go to waste_.”

 “ _You should have brought some home_.”

“ _No bags_ ,” she replied quickly. Her mother gave a small huff. After slicing a couple pieces off the loaf she cut a few chunks of cheese from the fresh cheddar wheel on the counter. A few pieces of Pâté later and she was sitting on the island with a hearty sandwich in hand.

Her mama stared her down with intent eyes, as if to read her face for any semblance of a lie. Maureen did her best to look innocent as she munched on the sandwich. “ _Firstly, get off the counter, you know better. Second, I wish you would call to let us know you’d be late. We worry about you. Especially after what happened today._ ”

Her mother’s words stung with guilt. She already suffered her mama’s fits of worrying after returning home from the café. The woman had been on the verge of tears pulling her into a vice-like hug while simultaneously threatening to keep her under lock and key for the remainder of the summer. But a few heartfelt apologies and puppy dog-eyed looks later her mother rescinded her punishment and instead made Maureen promise to do more housework until she left for university.

“ _I’m sorry, mama. I’ll make sure to call next time. I promise._ ” If only she knew what Maureen was doing behind her back, she’d have a stroke right there on the spot.

“ _There’s ma chouchoutte._ ” She was broken from her reverie by a coarse yet gentle hand squeezing her shoulder. She cringed at the pet name as she felt a kiss being placed on the side of her head.

“ _Papa, I’m not five anymore why must you call me that?”_

“ _Because that is what you will always be. Ma. Chouchoutte._ ” He placed another kiss atop her head before walking to her mother’s side. He kissed her cheek and she sweetly smiled at him in return. Maureen tried fighting back a small smile, but failed miserably. It was nice to see papa acting in such a domestic manner. She sometimes forgot he had a sweet side. He always held such a cold demeanor when it came to business and these days it felt like business took over every facet of his life.

“ _Marco, be a dear and watch over the bread I have some washing up to do._ ” Her mother untied her apron and handed it over to her husband before making her way out of the kitchen. He stared at the limp cloth in his hand for a beat before shrugging and tying it around his waist and neck. The black flour-stained apron contrasted sharply from his white button down shirt and cream colored slacks. He stretched out his arms with a grin and a little ‘eh?’ as if seeking Maureen’s approval. She nearly choked on her bread with a snort. They sat in comfortable silence as she continued eating.

“ _How are you feeling? Not too rattled I hope.”_ The question was so innocent, but she could feel her cheeks growing pink with heat.

“ _You know it’s not the first time I’ve seen a man die.”_

 _"_ _I know._ ” His stare bore into her, but she knew it was out of worry more than anything. _“But, it is still a difficult thing to watch._ ” She understood where her father was coming from. Over and over she replayed the scene of Malik’s lifeless face, blood spewing from the gaping hole in his throat, soaking the tablecloth with red life force, feeling pulpy flesh on her cheek. 

 _His_ fearful eyes.

“ _Papa, what are you going to do to the assassin once you find him?_ ” She made sure to choose her words carefully, putting an emphasis on ‘when’ instead of ‘if’. She didn’t know what prompted her to ask him this question. Maybe it was sheer masochism; a need to understand just how bad the repercussions would be for Lawrence if she failed. Her papa’s face shifted into a look of contemplation.

“ _He threatened our operations. Not just our operations but also, that of a business partner. Indirectly, he threatened you and I take that very personal. I don’t take kindly to personal threats._ ” An image entered her mind of Lawrence, hands strung up to a meat hook, as her father’s men slowly cut pieces away from his legs, his torso, his face until there was nothing left. She almost shuddered at the thought, but stopped herself in time.

“ _But, Chris said himself that the shooter missed me on purpose._ ” It was beyond her why she pushed the subject so far. Maybe a small part of her was convinced she could change her father’s mind. It was a very small part.

“ _That does not excuse the fact that he took a shot with you present. Not in my book._ ” His hands clenched tightly into fists.

“ _You want me to take over the business one day. I should expect this sort of thing. Besides, I’ve been shot at before—_ ”

“ _This isn’t the war, Maureen._ ” She flinched at his shortness. He turned away from her, clasping his hands behind his back. That was the end of it. She pushed him too far. Now he was going to transform from her papa back into stoic exterior, gut-you-without-flinching Marco Frenier. She gave a small sigh and spoke softly. 

“ _I know that. But, you can’t protect me forever._ ” Either he didn’t hear her or didn’t care.

“ _Why were you out so late? Really?_ ” Her face blanched, but she quickly regained control before he could see. _Well, that wasn’t at all what I was expecting._ He turned back around to look at her. There it was. The cold calculating image she begrudgingly grew to know. It meant he was scrutinizing her every move. She couldn’t tell what his motive was, but it couldn’t be good. No way did he find out her little secret. She was too careful, too discreet. Then again, he’d shown prowess like a mind reader in the past. He knew any time she snuck out of the house to meet a boy, or smuggled liquor into her bedroom. She steeled herself before replying.

“ _I took a detour through St. Charles._ ” His eyes softened once more at her explanation. It was not a complete lie. She did take Lawrence through the ruined part of the city, but only because they had no other choice. It was the quickest route.

“ _You know that’s a dangerous part of town. Especially at night._ "

“ _I know. But, I was thinking about him again._ ” His lips pressed together to form a thin line. She knew she encroached on a tender subject but it was all that came to mind. He nodded his head in understanding.

“ _I know you miss him,”_ he paused, considering his words. _“Please understand that everything I do, I do for you and in honor of him. The smoother my business runs, the more funding the council receives then the sooner boroughs like St. Charles can be rebuilt. Only then can we truly honor his name.”_

This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have. Not right now. She didn’t dare talk of such things for too long. The war and everything it touched was to be left unspoken, a bad memory of an ill forgotten dream. Her father understood her reluctance to speak and directed his attention toward the oven.

“ _That is why I must clean up any messes that are made. Including the one that was made today.”_ A lump caught in her throat and she visibly shook. His words made her so… angry. Livid in fact. How dare that be his excuse for his actions. She wanted to scream at him. But she would do no such thing. She didn’t have the confidence in herself not to slip up in some way. So she swallowed her tongue along with her food.

She finished her sandwich with a large gulp and hopped off the counter. The night was still young, but the day’s events exhausted her. _A little too much excitement_ , she thought to herself.

“ _You should head to bed. You have a long day with Christophe tomorrow._ ” Merde! How did she forget that? Twice a week she and Chris practiced fencing followed by lunch in the city. It was their time to ‘talk shop’; discuss city politics, good business practices, or best techniques for espionage. She usually relished in their biweekly meetings, but her current predicament put a damper on things. She planned to see Lawrence in the morning. There was no way she’d have time to run all over the city before her lesson.

“ _Actually, I was hoping we could put off my lessons for a day. I wanted to see my friends tomorrow_. _We have so little time together before university starts._ ” He watched her carefully. He was doing that calculating thing again. It didn’t help that she just told a bold face lie. Friends? What friends? There were no friends when you were the daughter of a drug kingpin. That was beside the point. Her father didn’t need to know that. “ _Please? I’ll pick right back up two days from now,_ ” she added with enthusiasm and her biggest smile. It seemed to work as his face relaxed once more.

“ _Alright. One day._ ” She bounded to his side and wrapped him in a big hug to show her gratitude. Releasing him, she realized she now had flour all over the front of her dress. With a giggle she wiped it off as best she could and wished her papa a good night. As soon as she left the kitchen she let out the breath she was holding.

That felt too close.

Her nerves were fraying at the edges while raw guilt and rage warred for dominance in the pit of her stomach. Her father’s words swarmed her head making her dizzy. _And this is just the first night?_ She flew up the stairs and into her bedroom, flopping face first onto her bed.

She remembered something Chris told her during their very first lesson together. He quoted some Scottish poem, she couldn’t for the life of her remember the name of the author. ‘Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive’. In short? He was telling her to keep her stories straight if she had to lie. She knew she would have to do a lot of deceiving over the next few days, possibly week. That even meant pulling the wool over Chris’ eyes, which made the churning in her stomach worse. She hated keeping secrets from her mentor, more than she did her father.

And her father… Whether or not he was aware of his words they stung all the same. She was certain his little speech was meant to rally her to his side. For what purpose she had yet to uncover. All it did was make her doubt her decision to hide Lawrence until things cooled down. But, she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—rat him out. She already made that promise to herself. She chewed on her lip in contemplation. Perhaps she came off as too sympathetic for the sniper during their talk. She’d need to work on that.

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Well, if she was to make up stories to save the young sniper’s life, she needed to start plotting now. And that’s exactly what she did all the way into the wee hours until her eyelids grew heavy with sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know, another heavily OC-centric chapter, but I felt some characterization and background was required. I promise the next chapters will be chocked full with Sniper goodness! 
> 
> If anyone was wondering, the story is set in a 1950 version of Marseille. During World War II parts of Marseille were heavily raided for Jewish residents, then completely evacuated and bombed for the benefit of German forces to move through the city effortlessly. This will play further into the story, so I thought I’d give some context. 
> 
> Ma Chouchette is literally “my cabbage” but is like calling someone “pumpkin”.
> 
> The quote ‘Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive’ is by Sir Walter Scott. It's from the poem Marmion.


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